The Tale of the Avenging Knights
by lurknomoar
Summary: Come closer, young one. I will tell you a story about the Avenging Knights, the mighty heroes who lived here the Tower of Stark, back in the olden days before the world became cold and grey.


Author's Note: This is a Historical AU, meant to be a story told in early Modern times about events that took place during the High Medieval period. There is a narrating character who is respectful, yet a product of his times, so there is some mild historical racism, sexism and Christian-centrism in the story.

...

Do you not know the story of the castle? Of course, young one, you are not from around here. In this town everyone knows, that although now it is no more than sad and forlorn ruins, it once was the proud Tower of Stark, the dwelling of the Avenging Knights. You have not heard of them either? You must have heard of the Avenging Knights, for they were known far and wide as Earth's mightiest heroes! They were the six bravest, boldest knights who ever lived, sworn to protect the weak and combat evil until their very last breath. Not like the lords and ladies today, who care not a tinker's cuss if little folk like me live or die, no sir! They helped out everyone who was in need. They lived more than two centuries ago, but it is still a shame that you know them not. I suppose I must start from the beginning.

The Tower of Stark is called so because it stands on ancient Stark land. The Starks still hold this borough, but back then it belonged to the young lord Anthony of Stark, who cared not a whit for the troubles of others. He made mountains of gold from selling cunning, new-fangled weaponry to crusaders, and spent all of it on wine and wenches. But when he had to accompany a crusading ship, and was held by vicious outlaws for a fortnight, he emerged a changed man. He built himself a suit of armour, and went to war alone, selflessly protecting every soul living on Stark land from robbers, raiders and all who would harm them. The suit of armour was a most peculiar one – it shone with the colours of blood and gold, and no human weapon could pierce it. Some say it even could fly. The folks on the Stark lands took to calling it the Man of Iron before they knew who was behind the visor. Lord Stark used his armour in defence of the just and true cause, and he was rewarded by the love of the Lady Pepper, a maiden just as fair as she was virtuous. She governed his estates while he occupied himself with warfare, and when they were reunited, they built new machinery to help the peasants with their daily work.

If they set out to build, they didn't have to do it alone: they were helped by Lord Stark's old friend, the Magister Banner. Banner was a promising student of the seven liberal arts in the university of Paris, until he started delving into books of mysticism and meddling with the dark art of alchemy. In search of an elixir of godlike power, he summoned a terrible demon of rage, which took root in his body. This gentle man was terribly punished for seeking what man was not meant to know, for the evil spirit did not leave him for the rest of this days. Repentance made his heart heavy, and in the hope that one day he may find absolution he harnessed both his own great wisdom and the demon's frightful power for the cause of justice.

When in one of his rages, the only one who could face him without trembling was another of the Avenging Knights, a barbarian from the North known only be the name of Thor. He wore a cape of red and drinking good ale was the only thing that delighted him more than crushing his foes with his mighty hammer. His strength and courage were such that the ignorant pagans named him a god above them. Even good Christians said that a blow from his hammer was more terrible than a strike of lighting, and that his shout rang louder than thunder.

Also from the North came the Lady Romanov, also called the Black Widow by reason that her garments were all black, and any man that knew her by sight, word or touch was likely to find his death speedily. I know that women are not known for being knights these days, and it was not common even then. But there was nothing common about Lady Romanoff. She was the equal of ten men on the battlefield, and bested men three times her size in single combat both with knives and unarmed. And yet, she was treacherous and cunning as any daughter of Eve, quick in lies and deception in order to confound her enemies and learn their secrets.

Another of the knights often rode with her, and slept in her quarters as often as not. Some even accused them of sharing a bed in sin, but she always answered that they were knights who have sworn an oath, not unruly children. The name of this knight was Sir Barton, but more remember him as the Hawkeye, for he was the best shot with the bow in the entire world. His eyes were sharp enough to spot a wasp at five hundred paces, his hand was steady enough to shoot it clean in half without coming a step nearer, and his mind was patient enough that he could wait three days without moving for the right wasp to appear.

Of course we must not forget Sir Rogers, Captain of them all. The strength of his arms was only matched by the strength of his faith, and he led the Avenging Knights bravely in all their battles. At first he was a sickly young man who had the heart to fight in the Latvian crusades, but no commander would take him. He had to stow away on one of the great ships sailing north on the Baltic sea. But once he was there, he found great strength and a wondrous shield blessed by the virtuous hands of Saint Peregrina, and with these he achieved glorious victories. Some say once he fell into an icy ravine and slept there frozen for decades, until some hunters found him, but ask me not if there is any truth in that.

But I am running ahead of myself, that is already the middle of the story, not its beginning. The story of the Avenging Knights began when a wise Moor lord called Nicolas the Fury founded the Shieldmen, an army that answered to neither king nor pope, whose only task was to protect the world of men. One day something was stolen from his chambers – a treasure of untold value that was also a weapon of unknown strength, known as the Tesseract. He knew that he did not have the power to reclaim it alone, but reclaim it he must, if he did not want the world in the hands of the devil. So he sent out his two most trusted generals, the indefatigable Sir Philip, son of Coul and the pertinacious Dame Maria of Hill to roam the lands and find the bravest knights they could.

But I talked the time away, it is getting dark, and cold too. Maybe I could tell the rest of it at the inn of the Winged Monkeys. If you buy me a mug of ale, I will tell you some more about the Avenging Knights. I could tell you all about the malicious schemes of Loki, the bastard brother of Thor. And about a cursed lance that struck fear in the hearts of men. And about the brave sacrifice of Lord Stark, the wrath of Magister Banner, the compassion of Thor, the quick wit of Lady Romanov, the tenacity of Sir Barton and all the valiant deeds of their Captain. And about a battle right here, a battle over the rooftops and in the streets, a battle so fierce that it almost razed the entire town to the ground. It's going to be a long night.


End file.
